


Leave it to the Victoria Sponge

by WritingQuill



Series: (30) Days of Johnlock [21]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, Baking, Birthday, Birthday Cake, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-09 03:42:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/769571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingQuill/pseuds/WritingQuill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Day twenty-one: baking </p><p> </p><p>  <i>"They say the best way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”</i></p><p> </p><p>It's John's birthday, and following Mrs Hudson's advice, Sherlock decided to bake him a cake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leave it to the Victoria Sponge

_”How about baking him something? My husband loved baked goods, pastries, cakes and all that. They say the best way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”_

When Sherlock woke up that morning, all the could think of was the advice Mrs Hudson had given him the week before. Today was John’s birthday and Sherlock still hadn’t got him a present. Normally he wouldn’t bother with such trivialities, but as of late, he and John had been dancing around each other ( _stupid metaphor_ , thought Sherlock) not sure about who should make the first move, so Sherlock decided to take it upon himself, and asked Mrs Hudson how to do it. Sure, picking up random men at bars for casual sex was easy — telling a jumper-wearing, gun-yielding, tea-drinking ex-army doctor you have deeper feelings than you can possibly understand for them, well, that is a bit more complicated and out of Sherlock’s depth, regrettably. 

He had decided to take on Mrs Hudson advice. John really did like cakes, Victoria sponges in particular, so Sherlock would bake him one for his birthday, and it would make John finally come out of his shell and declare his feelings for him. Foolproof plan. 

By the time Sherlock got around to actually leaving his bedroom, it was already nine in the morning and John had already left for work. He hadn’t mentioned his birthday at all in the past few weeks, not even hinting that he might want anything, but Sherlock figured he would because normal people had a thing about arbitrary celebrations, even if John was not as normal as everyone else. 

Sherlock put on clean clothes quickly, shrugged onto his coat and dashed off to the shops with the shopping list in hand. He had checked the cupboards, and noted that he needed to buy baking powder and self-raising flour for the cake, and icing sugar, vanilla extract (the recipe claimed it was optional, but Mrs Hudson had assured him that it would taste far better with it) and strawberry jam. The trip to the Tesco Express was thankfully quite quick, and Sherlock was able to find all that he’d need in order to prepare John’s cake. On the way back he stopped by Odd Bins and picked up a good bottle of wine. 

Now it was all about actually baking the cake. It shouldn’t be too hard, Sherlock figured, because cooking in general was basically Chemistry, and Sherlock had a multiple degrees on that. To be even more well-prepared, Sherlock cleaned out the kitchen table — minus the microscope — and spread out all the ingredients in the order in which he’d need them. The recipe was fairly straightforward, but Sherlock could not mess this up. John deserved the best cake in the world, if anything because he was the best thing that had ever happened to Sherlock, with or without the romantic possibilities. 

Sherlock buttered the sandwich tins and lined them with baking paper. Then he set about mixing up the ingredients for the batter, finding it to be easier than he had imagined, and it was soon soft and smooth as he beat it all together. He dipped a finger into the batter and brought it to his mouth, tasting the sweet taste of sugar and revelling in the smoothness. With a hum of pleasure, Sherlock divided the batter between the tins and placed them in the pre-heated cooker. He decided to wait ’til the cakes were finished before he started on the filling. 

Twenty minutes. Right. Sherlock went to his laptop and checked his emails from the website. Nothing. Sighing, he stood up and paced around the room. He was nervous. There. Not as hard to admit as he would have thought. But, yes, Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective, Genius and (self-proclaimed and most certainly _not_ professionally diagnosed) High Functioning Sociopath, was nervous about baking a cake to the men he was enamoured with. 

Sherlock still couldn’t believe John had lasted this long. He looked so ordinary when they first met, but then he became everything but. Sherlock adored those strong, careful hands, the way they touched Sherlock’s bruises and cuts when he got hurt, and the way they held his Sig Sauer firmly. He was a strong soldier and an extremely competent doctor. He was Sherlock’s best friend, only friend, the person Sherlock could see himself growing old with when all the images of his old age prior to John had been either inexistent or lonely. Now he looked forward to maybe keeping bees in the country, John tending the garden, perhaps the could adopt a dog — John loved dogs. The idea of being more than platonically involved with John seemed better the more he thought of it. It meant more time with John, being able to document and map every inch of that still-slightly tanned skin, having John’s warmth with him at all times. There was really no downside from this arrangement. Provided that John said yes, of course. 

The chime from the tomato timer woke Sherlock from his reverie. He walked over to the cooker and opened it a bit, checking the colour of the cakes — golden. With a smile, Sherlock turned the cooker off and put on oven mitts to pick up the tins, then he placed them on the kitchen table over tea towels to let them cool down. Now it was time to work on the filling — he could think about John later. 

He used the beater he had borrowed from Mrs Hudson — surprisingly enough, neither he nor John had one — to beat the butter until smooth. That was a bit straining on his patience, but it looked like the cake would work after all. Then he slowly added the icing sugar, then vanilla extract to the butter, continuing to beat it all together. Soon, it was a delicious-looking butter cream. Sherlock smiled to himself at the success of his endeavour. Time to mount the cake. 

First things first, he had to take the cakes out of the tins. That was easy enough, especially now that they were a bit colder. He then smoothed the butter cream over what would be the bottom half, nice and smooth, then did the same with the jam — John loved jam so Sherlock put a bit extra — and then put the other sponge on top. The final touch was a bit of icing sugar dusted on top of the cake, and it was done. It looked a bit dodgier than the one on the picture, but still quite delicious. John would most certainly appreciate the effort. 

Finally, Sherlock looked around then kitchen. It looked like a bakery had exploded in there. Flour and sugar everywhere. He groaned. Normally, he would just leave it for John to clean, but it was his birthday, and even Sherlock was not clueless enough to know that John sometimes deserved a break from being Sherlock’s caretaker. 

It took Sherlock about an hour to leave the kitchen spotless. He placed the cake on top of a nice cake stand — also borrowed from Mrs Hudson — and placed a few candles on top of it. Now it was about waiting for John to arrive. In the meantime, Sherlock decided to take a shower and wash the cake off his hair. 

*

By the time John arrived, his footsteps being heard from the kitchen, Sherlock was already showered and dressed in one of his best suits, and the purple shirt John liked — not that he had ever said so, but it was obvious from the clear dilation of his pupils and twitch of his hands every time Sherlock wore it. 

Sherlock stood by the door and waited for John to get in. There was an odd feeling at the pit of his stomach, a warm sort of fuzzy not-entirely-uncomfortable feeling. He always felt that way around John. 

‘Hey, Sherlock,’ greeted John when he walked in, looking a bit tired but smiling nonetheless. He put his coat on the hanger and stretched a bit. ‘What are you doing just standing there?’ 

Sherlock cleared his throat. ‘Happy birthday, John,’ he said. John’s eyes widened and his mouth hung open. 

‘How did you..?’ Sherlock waved off the question. 

‘Irrelevant. I have something for you.’ 

‘You didn’t have to get me anything, I stopped paying much mind to my birthdays when I turned eighteen,’ John told him with a chuckle. Sherlock smiled back and shook his head. 

‘No, you are important to me.’ He took John by the wrist and walked him to the kitchen, presenting the cake with a flourish. John’s mouth was agape, and Sherlock could see that his eyes had turned a bit red. 

‘You… got me a cake?’ 

‘Wrong. I made you a cake. From scratch. I don’t know if it’s edible, but—‘ 

John interrupted him but pulling him down to a kiss. Their lips met softly. John’s lips were sweet and pliant as he explored Sherlock’s. Sherlock rested his hands on John’s waist while John grasped Sherlock’s hair passionately. The kiss turned hungry and sloppy as they open their mouths, tongues meeting in a heated frenzy. A few minutes of kissing, and they pulled apart, mouths red and breaths harsh. 

‘I take it you liked the surprise, then?’ asked Sherlock with a smirk. 

John gave him a sweet smile back, brushing his thumb against Sherlock’s cheekbone. ‘I haven’t had a proper birthday cake since my Mum died when I was thirteen,’ he explained. ‘My father stopped caring after her death, and Harry and I would celebrate our birthdays with small cupcakes from the school canteen.’ 

Sherlock put more pressure onto his hold on John’s waist with the hope that it would help John see that he’d always be there now. John simply smiled back and nodded. 

’Shall we cut the cake then?’ John asked, looking fondly at the dodgy Victoria sponge with the candles on top. 

Sherlock lit them. ‘Make a wish,’ he said. John chuckled and shook his head. 

‘I don’t have to.’

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I really hope you liked this, even though I rambled about baking for one thousand words, haha.
> 
> If you want the recipe for the Victoria sponge, it's [here](http://www.bbcgoodfood.com/recipes/1997/). Enjoy!


End file.
